Cheeky
by Lilith Sora
Summary: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Draco all have kids at Hogwarts, and the parents have just as many problems as the kids do. Drama ensues both inside the walls of the castle and out.
1. Little Balls of Sunshine

**Disclaimer: **I own the children, not the parents.

**I**

**Little Balls of Sunshine**

Draco sat down in front of Pansy at a table off to the side of a room full of stone tables. It was dank, uncomfortable, and lit by candlelight—there were no windows. There were Dementors stationed around random areas of the room, but it was a uniformed wizard who brought Draco to his seat.

"I assumed a Dementor was going to bring you out here," Pansy said bluntly, her hands folded in front of her on the table.

Draco didn't respond. The Ministry thought too many Dementors in the visitation area would begin to hurt the non-inmates of Azkaban, so they didn't allow them to fill the room.

"I missed you," Draco said instead.

"Why did we have to run away?" Pansy didn't sound particularly sad, mostly just angry.

"Pansy—"

"You would've done less time if you hadn't run away."

"I'll be out soon." He started to slide his arm slowly across the table toward hers.

She swatted it away dismissively and he flinched dramatically, lightly touching his forearm.

"No touching," said the guard, from his position against the wall.

Pansy ignored him. "What's wrong with your arm?"

"Nothing." His arm recoiled back toward his body, like an animal withering from attack. "I'll be out in less than two years, Pansy."

"I have something to tell you."

"What?" There was deep emotion in his steel eyes. It wasn't sadness, but it was dramatic pain and weariness. He was growing tired after being in Azkaban for only three months.

Pansy looked down at her hands. "I'm pregnant." She glanced upwards and his eyes were boring into hers. His mouth was hanging open, just slightly. This time it was Pansy's hands who tentatively reached for Draco's.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, intertwining his fingers with hers.

She paused. "I'm going to keep it."

"Are you sure? I mean, I'll be in here—"

"I'm keeping it, Draco."

"Okay. If you're sure—"

"I'm sure."

"No touching," the guard repeated. "Time's up." He stepped forward and lifted Draco out of his seat by his bicep. "Ligare," he mumbled, and Draco's wrists were immediately attached behind his back. He looked back briefly at his pregnant girlfriend with those intense eyes of his. She looked angry and bored.

"Harry, have you seen my navy shirt with the black buttons?"

"No…" was Harry's response, sounding almost a little puzzled.

Ginny poked her head out of the bedroom, and stared at her boyfriend who was lazily preparing his breakfast in what could barely even be called a kitchen. "Why do you sound so confused?"

"Well, why should I know where your shirt is?"

"I don't know. Maybe because you live here, too?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

"Oh, my God," Ginny mumbled disgruntledly, turning back into the room and continuing to toss clothes left and right in an eager search for her top. "You know, Harry, maybe it would help if you tidied up once, in a while!" She stumbled upon a pair of smelly old socks and angrily threw them on Harry's side of the bed. "Christ…"

He joined her in the bedroom, casually eating cereal out of a mug. "_I_ need to be tidying up? You're not exactly the Queen of Neat, either."

She rolled her eyes and turned to face him, holding an army green longsleeved shirt in one hand, and a pair of Harry's—thankfully clean—boxers daintily by the elastic in the other. "Maybe you could help me?"

"Alright, but I don't really see why."

Ginny scoffed. "You are so rude—it's unbelievable."

"_I'm_ rude? The first thing you said to me this morning was basically an accusation that I lost your shirt."

She narrowed her eyes. "Sorry that, since you're the other person I live with, I just assumed that perhaps you'd stumbled across my shirt during one of your lazy romps around the apartment."

"Lazy romps? What language are you even speaking?"

"Ugh!" she grunted. She threw the shirt and boxers at him and went back to rummaging through the heaps of clothes on the floor. They got there because she had strewn everything around room when she first went about looking for her shirt. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for work, anyway?"

Harry shrugged and started out of the bedroom.

"So you're not going to help me? You're a fabulous boyfriend, you know that? Sometimes I don't even understand why I'm still dating you." She stormed into the bathroom. "Oh, bugger," she said after a short pause.

"What now?"

"I'm pregnant."

Almost four years later, Ginny was walking through Diagon Alley with her son, Liam Albus Potter, on her way to visit her brothers at _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes_.

"Mummy, can we go in there?" Liam asked, pointing to a store on their right. Ginny didn't even bother to look; he had been pointing at everything that they'd past and attempting to drag her over to it (needless to say, without much luck as he was about a quarter Ginny's size).

"No, Liam."

"What about there? Look at the animals!"

"No, Liam. Don't you want to visit your uncles?"

"No, I want to go to the stores."

"Well, not today."

"Mummy, can I get ice cream?"

Ginny stopped and looked down at her son. "Liam, we're going to visit Fred and George right now. Maybe if you're good I'll buy you some ice cream afterwards."

At that, Liam snapped his gaping mouth shut and faced forward. Ginny was about to continue down the street with her son when something caught her eye. It was a boy with strikingly white-blonde hair crouched in front of a girl with similarly coloured hair, who looked about Liam's age, outside the ice cream shop. It was, without a doubt, Draco Malfoy. Ginny's immediate reaction was to wonder what in Merlin's name he was doing standing in the middle of Diagon Alley. Her second thought was to wonder why he wasn't getting harassed. And her third was that she couldn't help but notice something innocent and sincere about the way he was crouched over, talking to his daughter.

She felt a light tug on her hand and remembered Liam. She continued down the street with her son. The two entered _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes_ to find it not unbearably crowded, but the first thing that Ginny noticed was her unsupervised nephew sitting behind the counter.

"Atticus," she said, sounding concerned and approaching the five-year-old. "Where's your dad?"

Atticus jutted a casual thumb towards the storerooms behind him.

"Will you go get him for me, please?"

Atticus relented and scampered off to find his dad. Luckily, he wasn't quite at an age of too much rebellion, yet. Liam, however, was somehow already trying desperately to loosen his mother's grip on his hand. He was currently attempting to peel each finger off one by one, but—probably just to mess with him—Ginny wouldn't let go.

"Mummy," Liam grumbled.

She looked down at him.

"Can you let me go so I can look at the toys?"

"No." Last time, Liam ran off and ate a Canary Cream.

"Ginny! How nice of you to come visit your big brothers." Fred and George had just entered from the depths of the storage areas. George had greeted his sister, with little Atticus in tow.

Ginny frowned at him. "Why on earth did you leave Atticus out here to run the shop?"

"I didn't leave him out here to run the shop. I merely went in back for a brief moment."

Ginny raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Liam was pulling on her fingers again. "Mummy, can I go in back with Atticus?"

Ginny looked at her brothers.

"Oh, calm down, Sadie's back there."

"Good." Ginny released her grip on Liam. Sadie was George's wife. Ginny often wondered why, as crazy as they were, Fred and George managed to marry such sane women.

"What's the matter with you?" Fred wondered, stepping behind the counter. "Not getting enough—"

"Stop."

Her brothers laughed.

Ignoring them, Ginny moved onto a different subject. "As I was walking through Diagon Alley, just a minute ago, you know who I passed?"

"Mad-Eye Moody," guessed Fred.

"McGonagall?" asked George.

"Michael Corner."

"Oliver Wood."

"Hagrid?"

"No! Stop." Ginny made a point to glare before continuing. "Draco Malfoy."

"Draco Malfoy?" Fred repeated. "Why would that ferret ever show his face in public?"

"That's what I thought."

"When did he get out of Azkaban?" George enquired.

Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. He had a little girl with him, though."

Fred gasped. "An illegal love slave!"

"Fred." Ginny looked as though she was about to hex her brother into oblivion. "It was his daughter."

"You sure?" Fred asked.

"Yes. She had his hair and everything."

"How old was she?" asked George.

"She looked about Liam's age."

This time both Fred and George gasped, and it seemed just _slightly_ more genuine. "You know what that means," said George.

"What?"

"She'll be in Liam's class at Hogwarts."

Ginny was shocked. That hadn't even occurred to her.

"If the git has half a brain he won't send his kid to Hogwarts," muttered Fred.

"Excuse me, how much are these?" A woman had approached the counter and was brandishing a box of Extendable Ears.

"That would be ten sickles," George answered.

Ginny refocused back to their conversation. "Well, he's prancing around Diagon Alley with his daughter, isn't he?"

"Yeah, but why would Malfoy _want_ to send his kid to Hogwarts?" Fred noted. "He always bragged about how his father was going to send him somewhere else, anyway."

"Let's hope that he's smart enough to not make his father's mistake," said George.

Ginny was about to say something, but felt slightly hesitant to bring it up.

"How much is this?" shouted someone from across the shop, holding up a box of something Ginny couldn't distinguish from where she was.

"Eight sickles and two knuts," was Fred's hasty reply.

Ginny's mouth got the best of her. "He _did_ try and join our side, though."

Fred and George frowned at her.

"It was all a ploy," George stated.

"Yeah, some really, really awful maneuver set up by the Death Eaters." Fred rolled his eyes dramatically.

"But then why would he disappear afterwards?"

"To try and—" Fred started.

"Does this two-for-the-price-of-one sign apply for the U-No-Poo, as well?" someone asked from a few feet away.

"Yes! For goodness sakes, we're in the middle of a very important conversation, here." Fred turned back to his sister and continued more calmly, although his face had flushed to a shocking shade of pink. "To try and trick us. He knew that if he disappeared it would make him look all innocent, and then he'd come back and go to jail—I mean what kind of git comes back knowing perfectly well he's going to be put in Azkaban?" Fred ranted.

Ginny shrugged. She knew that was something Harry, Ron, or Hermione would've done. Maybe Fred and George wouldn't do something noble like that, but she knew that the other three would. This didn't mean she was feeling any sort of sympathy for Draco Malfoy, however. She was just completely baffled by his actions. This was far beyond any of the bizarre stuff he had ever done at Hogwarts.

Hermione and Ron still—with five children and a sixth on its way—still lived in a cramped London flat, because they had yet to earn enough money to buy a nice house out in the rolling fields of England. Hermione kept on insisting that she stop having children and go back into Ministry work, but at this point, she'd already gotten herself into the mess, as Ron put it, and who was going to take care of the kids if she started leaving for work everyday? It wasn't as though they had enough money for day care or a babysitter or anything that fancy. But it really wasn't as depressing as it sounded—the two of them were still very young and had only been married for seven years, so it rather made sense that they didn't have enough money yet. And it didn't help that all these kids were slowing down the process.

One afternoon, Hermione was walking down the street on her way to the grocery store (yes, witches and wizards do go to the grocery store. They're not going to magically conujure up a salad out of nowhere) with Benjamin, Victoria, Ewan, and baby Angus—Edith was at Bring-Your-Daughter-to-Work day with Ron at the Ministry. He said that he could only handle one crazy child, so poor Victoria had to stay with her brothers and mother. Benjamin, who was five, was walking a few paces ahead of them, while Victoria (she was three) bobbed along sadly, clutching her mother's hand as though it was her only key to survival. Two-year-old Ewan, meanwhile, was in the stroller, and Angus (he was barely one) was in one of those confusing wrap-pouch things around Hermione's torso. She was very hot, stressed out, and tired.

They reached a streetcorner and Hermione did a routine check to make sure all her kids were there and intact. Angus in the pouch—check. Victoria squeezing the life out of her hand—check. Ewan in the stroller—check. Ben prancing along in front of them—ch—wait a minute. Hermione spun around. She hadn't even noticed that they had passed a football field outside a schoolyard and Ben had stayed with his face pressed up against the fence, his little fingers curled around the metal wiring.

She wheeled the whole group around. "Come on Ben, honey."

He didn't budge.

"Ben. Ben, come on, Mummy wants to get to the grocery store."

"What are they doing?" he asked.

"They're playing football." Hermione reached for Ben's arm while still holding on to Victoria, and while gripping the stroller in the other. She poked at his baby-fat bicep with her pointer finger. "Come on, Ben."

He turned to her with big, sad eyes. "Can't I watch?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not right now, sweetie. I'll ask Daddy to take you back some other time, okay?"

Ben frowned at her and turned back to the game.

"For goodness sake—Ben, _come on_. I'm not about to leave you here because I know that's what you want. We need to get to the grocery store." Hermione took a chance and let go of Victoria's hand. Surprisingly, the little girl obliged. She tugged a little harder on Ben's arm in an attempt to get him off the fence. "Ben, do not make Mummy angry. She's had a long day and it's not about to be over anytime soon."

He finally reluctantly removed his tightly grasping fingers from the fence and trudged along behind the group. Hermione was about to faint from exhaustion.

"Good night, Iris." Draco bent over and gave his daughter a kiss on the forehead. He readjusted the blankets on his five-year-old's bed, making sure that she was completely stuck in there. It was the overprotective father in him.

"Night, Daddy," she said cheerfully.

He stood up to leave, but his daughter stopped him.

"What's that thing on your arm?" she asked, staring at his left forearm.

Draco felt a sickening feeling rising in his stomach. He had trained his eyes not to look there, even when he was wearing a longsleeved shirt, as he usually made a point of doing. His daughter had caught him off guard. He sat down on the edge of her bed and lightly stroked her hair. "Well, when I was younger and much… less intelligent, I did something silly. And this is what happened." She was referring to the acid stain he had where the Dark Mark used to be tatooed. When he was stuck in Azkaban, the Dementors were instructed to very painfully remove all Dark Marks from the inmates.

Iris looked confused.

"Don't worry about it. Good night." He kissed her forehead once more. She left a wet one on his cheek. Draco then crossed the hall to his bedroom.

"What's wrong?" Pansy asked unemotionally from her spot on the bed.

"Iris just asked me about my arm."

"You mean, where your Dark Mark used to be?" she asked.

Draco lowered his eyes. "Yes."

"Well… what did you tell her?" Oddly enough, it didn't really sound like she cared much.

"I told her that I made a mistake and this is what happened."

"I guess it's a nice right and wrong kind of lesson."

Draco didn't respond.

"So what did you have to tell me that was so important it had to wait until now?"

An uncontrollable smile began to slowly creep across Draco's face, despite the previous conversation. "I got the job."

Pansy looked pleasantly pleased. "The Ministry one?"

Draco nodded, climbing into bed next to his wife.

"Finally," she said, contradicting the excited grin that had spread across her face.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've just been looking for a while." Pansy kissed him.

**End Note: **I don't know what they call strollers in the UK, so I just used the word stroller. This is my first story, so reviews, comments, and criticism of all kind (preferably not flames, however) are very much welcomed and appreciated.


	2. We Play and We Fight

**II**

**We Play and We Fight**

"Merry Christmas!" Ginny stepped out of the fireplace in Charlie's quaint home. He had moved to a small wizarding community with his wife, Lavinia, several years ago. Ginny turned back to the fireplace after yelling through the empty living room. She was waiting for Liam to pop out.

He did so and tripped, and she went down to catch him. He just shook his mother off.

"Mum, I'm eight, not four," he grunted, standing himself up.

Next, Harry stepped out perfectly—much unlike the first time he ever traveled via the Floo Network.

"Hello?" Ginny repeated.

Suddenly a wave of people entered the living room. First to greet them were Lavinia and Fleur.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Ah! 'Ow are you? So nice to see you…"

"Oh, Liam, you're so big now!"

Then came Ron. "Harry! Ginny! So glad you could make it. Hi, Liam! All your cousins are upstairs."

At that, the sound of dozens of pairs of feet could be heard stampeding down the stairs.

"Liam!" Ben was first, throwing his arms very masculinely around his cousin.

Then all hell broke loose. There were far too many people in the room to count, especially after Charlie, Bill, Fred, Angelina, George, Sadie, and Mr and Mrs Weasley all found their way in. Liam bushwhacked through the tangle of legs and followed his cousins back upstairs. They all—as they did anytime anyone went to Charlie and Lavinia's house—had congregated in the attic, which had long ago been converted into a vast and highly entertaining playroom.

* * *

First, there was a loud thump. "Ow!"

Then, the usual amount of loud, scratchy whispering that commenced with the start of Murder in the Dark erupted.

"It's so dark in here…"

"Aaaah! What is that?"

"Don't worry, Victoria. It's just your cousins up here."

"Who's touching me?"

"Ha, ha…"

"Stop it, Ben."

"What? That wasn't me!" came from the other side of the room.

"Sssh!"

"Wait, was that a tap? Did you kill me?"

"Sacrebleu!"

"Sssshh!!!"

"How am I supposed to die if I don't even know whether or not I just got killed?"

"Be quiet! Alright, no more talking."

"Hey, kids. Hello?"

"What?" Charlotte, Charlie's youngest daughter, turned the light back on.

Her father's head poked up at the top of the stairs. "How about if Ewan and Alexandra and Victoria all came downstairs and helped their parents with the cooking?"

"No!" the three youngest in the room all moaned, sounding horribly upset.

"Yes, I think that would be very helpful. And you can play with Pippa and Angus and Petey."

Alexandra, Fred's youngest, folded her arms and shook her head adamantly, Victoria looked a little nervous, and Ewan scowled the deepest scowl any of them had ever seen.

"Dad, this really isn't necessary," Charlotte said, approaching her father, determined to deal with this peacefully.

"It just gets a little too chaotic with all of you up here," Charlie explained.

"Dad, come on, they're going to all start crying and that's going to make things even more hectic."

But Charlie ignored his daughter and summoned the three downstairs. They all stomped their way incredibly loudly to the stairs and once they reached the bottom, every cousin who was left upstairs could hear the howling and wailing start up.

Dominica, Charlie's older daughter, appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Dominica! Did you get Dad to bring them downstairs?" Charlotte asked, offended.

Dominica shrugged. "Admit it, Charlotte. We don't have _any_ fun when they're up here."

"What fun are we going to have, Dominica? You're not hanging out with a group of kids that are all your age. You're hanging out with your cousins."

Dominica just shrugged once again and plastered an eerily Malfoy-like smirk across her pale face. But of course no one in the room knew just how Malfoy-like Dominica's smirk was because none of them had attended school with a Malfoy. Yet.

* * *

"Mum, I'm going to Samantha's house!" Iris shouted through the house as she hopped downstairs.

"Okay," she heard her mother reply from somewhere in the distance.

She put her hand on the doorknob. "I'll be back after dinner."

"Alright."

Iris, who was now eleven, left her house and started down the block. It was midday in late July and the sun was shining brightly, high in the sky. She and her mother and father lived on the outskirts of a quaint, charming wizarding community. She had been best friends with Samantha Pucey—daughter of Daphne Greengrass and Adrian—since the Malfoys moved to said community when Iris was seven. Samantha was one of the few people that Pansy let Iris play with anyway, and it was only because she was the daughter of Pansy's friend from Hogwarts and another Slytherin alumn. Daphne and Adrian, however, were substantially less paranoid than Pansy.

Iris skipped up the steps to the Pucey household and knocked on the big brass knocker that adorned the front door, which swung open just a moment later.

"Hi!" Samantha greeted happily, letting her friend enter the house.

"Hi."

Samantha stepped aside, allowing her white-blonde haired friend to enter her house. "Want to go outside?"

Iris nodded.

"It's so hot in here." Samantha lead the way to her modest backyard and the two sprawled out on chairs on Samantha's back porch. They could hear the noises of the neighbors playing in their yard. Suddenly something landed in the middle of the crisp, green grass of the Pucey's backyard. "Oh, bugger."

The talking on the other side of the fence became clearer and less jumbled.

"Did it go over?"

"Nice work, Atticus."

"That wasn't me!"

"What are you talking about? I just saw you with it in your hand."

"Yeah, then I passed it to Lucas and he threw it over."

"Don't try and blame your lack of depth perception on me."

"Whatever, we're going to have to go over and get it, anyway."

Samantha had, by now, put a finger over her lips to indicate that Iris wasn't to speak. They heard the boys—three voices had been speaking—make their way to the front of their house. Samantha giggled quietly and scampered to where the object—a Fanged Frisbee—had fallen. She picked it up, despite its snarling protests.

"What are you doing with it?" Iris whispered, just as the sounds of knocking could be heard coming from the front door.

Samantha grinned evilly and chucked the frisbee back over the fence. The girls laughed before traveling back through the house and opening the door for the boys. There were, indeed, three of them, and the one who looked the oldest stood in front of the other two, smiling charismatically at the young girls. Iris stole a sidelong glance at Samantha, who wore an expression on her face that suggested she had just been confronted by a god. This boy was conventionally attractive—nicely tousled blonde hair and deep, glistening blue eyes—but Iris didn't feel that he was anything worth collapsing over.

"Hi, girls," the boy started, speaking almost condescendingly. "We're cousins of the Weasley family, who live next door, and we accidentally tossed a frisbee to your side of the fence. We were wondering if you could perhaps just toss it back over to us?"

"We already did." The words seemed to burst out of Samantha's mouth. She laughed in a horribly unseductive way and Iris rolled her eyes dramatically.

The two boys standing behind the blonde one looked horribly angry. The blonde, however, kept his cool. "Alright, then. Thank you." With a swift turn he was down the steps and heading over to his cousins' house. The last two quickly followed.

Samantha shut the front door. "That boy was_ gorgeous_."

"He was okay."

"_Okay_? Only _okay_?" Samantha stood with her mouth agape. She regained her composure. "You're just saying that because your mum doesn't want you having anything to do with the Weasleys."

Iris frowned. "It has nothing to do with my mum's stupid rules. I just am clearly much, much better at keeping my composure around boys than you are."

Samantha gasped. "You are not." She paused. "Wait, so you do think he's cute?"

Iris laughed.

"Oh! I have an idea!" Samantha darted up the staircase to the second floor of her house. Iris followed her. "There's a perfect view from the study to the Weasleys' house." Iris grinned, a devilish glint in her eye. Iris shook her head but followed her friend into the study nonetheless. The two crouched next to a window in the back left side of the house. They could see straight into the Weasley's backyard, where the three boys were tossing around the Fanged Frisbee.

"Oh, my God, look at him," Samantha sighed. "You know, I think I've probably seen him before. There are always hundreds of cousins over at that house. I just usually can't tell them apart because there are so many."

"I wonder why they're all always over here. Do they live nearby?"

"I don't think so. They must all go to Hogwarts. My mum says that my letter should be coming soon. Oh, this just makes me want to go even more badly."

A few more kids entered the yard. One of them started kicking around a strange, checkered ball.

"What's that kid doing?" Iris wondered aloud.

"Huh? Who?" Samantha didn't want to tear her gaze from the blonde boy.

"That kid. With the ball." Iris pointed at where she could see him through the glass.

"He's just kicking around a ball. He looks funny."

He was kicking it around and sort of jogging behind it. Then he'd stop periodically and bounce it up and down on his foot.

"I think that might be some Muggle sport, or something…" Samantha guessed, her attention now slowly being drawn back to the blonde boy.

"What a strange past time." Iris needed to find something else to look at.

* * *

Pansy was startled to see Draco step out of the fireplace that evening. "You're home early," she said.

"I know," Draco replied, brushing himself off. "The Ministry was feeling generous today."

Pansy held up a sealed envelope. "This came in the mail today for Iris."

"Is it her Hogwarts letter?" Draco took it from his wife, recognising Professor McGonagall's neat script. "That's fantastic. Where is she?" Draco thought his daughter should open it.

"She's at Samantha's."

"Well, let's bring her home, then." Draco noticed his wife's sour expression. "What's wrong?" He took a seat on the couch.

"I don't know if I want her going to Hogwarts."

Draco looked confused. "Why wouldn't she go to Hogwarts?"

"It's not safe for people like us."

"People like us? What do you mean 'people like us'?"

Pansy narrowed her eyes. "You know pefectly well what I mean."

Draco looked at her blankly. He wanted her to say it, if she was so confident in her conviction.

"People with families like ours."

He waited for her to continue but she didn't. "Ex-Death Eaters, you mean? Pansy, the world is a very different place now—"

"Yes, and it's much less safer for Purebloods than it may have been when we were in high school. Everyone at Hogwarts is probably a dirty, half-blood, Mudblooded excuse for a wizard. Do we really want our daughter to be tainted like that?"

"Tainted—what?" Draco spluttered. He was baffled by Pansy's remark. "I don't know what you think is going to happen to her, but she'll get the best education at Hogwarts. Where else would we send her?"

Pansy ignored Draco's statement. "What happened to the Draco I knew at Hogwarts that bragged about how his father wanted him at Durmstrang and how much he hated Hogwarts?"

"I stopped being that person a very long time ago, and you know that."

Pansy's hateful expression stayed painted across her face.

"My father being sent to Azkaban was a big wake-up call for me. Involving myself with the Dark Lord as I did was a big wake-up call for me." Draco shook his head, trying to clear his mind of any more theatrical speeches. "I don't understand why this is all coming up now. After we've been married for nine years."

"Maybe it's taken me this long to realise all the mistakes I've made." Pansy stood dramatically and stalked out of the room.

Draco stayed on the couch and waited for his daughter to return home. He didn't feel like dealing with Pansy after she'd had another over-the-top outburst; something which she was incredibly prone to. There wasn't much that she could say to really hurt him anymore. He had taken it all for so long that he was basically immune.

* * *

**End Note: **The dialogue was a bit dramatic, but what they said needed to be said. Reviews are nice.


	3. Day One

**III**

**Day One**

"Just make sure you keep running the whole time. Don't stop. Don't be scared, either." Draco was spitting out every piece of advice that he could think of in the short amount of time he had. The Hogwarts Express was going to leave Platform 9 ¾ at any moment, and he did not know what he was going to do if Iris wasn't on it. "Just look straight ahead. None of the Muggles will notice you."

"Alright, already," Iris replied, getting annoyed by her father's instructions. She wheeled her cart around to face the only slightly formidable brick wall that stood durably in front of her. She took a deep breath and sprinted straight for the wall, pushing her cart in front of her. Instead of smashing into the wall and falling over in a pile of wizarding artifacts, as she was beginning to think she might do, she actually made it through to the other side where her eyes met a vast station beginning to empty of kids as the last few made their way hurriedly onto the gigantic, steaming, red Hogwarts Express that stood before her. Parents and small children were now the only ones left on the platform.

"Hurry, Iris, you have to get on," Draco urged.

"Okay…" She pulled her large trunk off the cart with much difficulty as her dad attempted to give her a hasty kiss goodbye. "Bye, Dad, I'll see you… later." She wasn't really sure when she was going to see him next, but there was no time for questions so she just dragged her trunk to the nearest entrance to the train and stepped aboard. Draco pushed it up the stairs for her and she soon disappeared into the depths of the long, red train.

* * *

"Oh, my God, look!"

Hermione felt something bluntly hit her side. "Ouch!" She flinched. Ron had just whacked her. "What?"

"Look!" Ron screeched in a breathy whisper. He nodded vigorously toward one of the entrances to the train where Draco Malfoy was helping a girl with his signature white-blonde hair push a trunk up the few steps into the car.

Hermione gasped reflexively and passed the whack along to Ginny, who was standing to her right.

"Ow—what?"

"Malfoy!"

Harry heard it, as well, and the couple both snapped their necks in the direction of the smirky blonde.

"Oh, God," was Ginny's nauseous reaction.

"Where's Pansy?" Harry enquired.

"Good question!" said Ron, able to take his mind and his gaze off the train and his children and nieces and nephews leaning out, all waving eager goodbyes, now that a Malfoy had entered the conversation.

"Oh, come on," Hermione said, suddenly becoming reasonable again. "She's probably working, or something. You know, not _every_ job can let all their employees go for this day."

Ginny waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, please. Draco Malfoy wouldn't let his wife work. She'd be at home cooking and cleaning. Sexist prat…"

The train made a loud noise and started slowly pulling out of the station.

"I bet she divorced him because he's so annoying. Their daughter's probably just as annoying." Ron had to raise his voice, but didn't seem to make the connection as to why he needed to do that.

Harry shook his head. "Pansy needs the money. And she's annoying, too."

"Money?" Hermione sounded a bit appalled. "Who said anything about Draco having loads of money? He was in Azkaban, remember?"

At that, Ginny whacked both Harry and Hermione — they were closest — to alert them of the Express's steady departure.

"Oh, right," said Hermione quietly.

"Bye!" they all shouted, waving their hands spiritedly at their kids.

"See you … in a long time …" Ginny's voice suddenly fell. "Oh, God. How long is it until we see them again?"

"Oh, Ginny, don't worry," Hermione grunted in a dismal voice, despite the gigantic smile she had plastered across her face and the enthusiastic waving her arm was participating in. "Just long enough for me to not _quite_ drown myself."

"Drown yourself? You have four other children, Hermione." Ginny paused, and thought for a minute, forgetting temporarily about the fact that her son was still clearly visible and that she should probably be saying goodbye to him. "Can I have one?"

Harry now stepped into the conversation. "Have one? We can make more, if you'd like."

Ginny glared at her husband.

"I second that glare," said Ron, witnessing the action out of the corner of his eye. "Please keep your sexual urges at bay, Harry. We know the kids are leaving, but not quite yet."

Harry scowled. "She started it," he grumbled, now unable to put up a happy front for his departing son.

None of them noticed Draco Malfoy standing sadly, toward the exit of Platform 9 ¾, waiting for the bus to just leave quickly and safely so he could go back home and continue to be glum and wallow in his own self-pity.

* * *

Iris slowly made her way down the car, dragging her trunk lethargically behind her, peering inconspicuously into every compartment, looking hopefully for Samantha. If only her slow father hadn't made them leave the house thirty minutes late, hence getting to the platform right as the train was leaving. Iris wasn't really aware of the uncontrollable frown that was creeping nastily across her pale face with every thought that ran through her mind. She wasn't particularly angry at her father—he had obviously been incredibly stressed out and upset since her mother left them—but just angry at the entire situation. First, her mother left, then her father wouldn't even really give her a valid reason as to why her mother did that. Then, she gets to the platform late and has to rush onto the stupid train and can't even find her best and only friend going to this school with her—

"Are you okay?"

Iris looked up suddenly, being torn away from her forlorn thoughts. "Oh, uh, I'm just looking for a friend."

"Are you a first-year?" the girl asked. She was pretty, medium height and somewhat slender, with chestnut-brown hair. She spoke, however, with a slightly dismissive and uncouth voice.

"Yes."

"There are a lot in the next car." The girl gave Iris a slightly strange and intimidating look as she continued by her.

"Okay. Thanks." Iris picked up her pace just slightly, continuing on to the next car. Luckily enough, a few compartments in she found Samantha, who happened to be sitting with a group of boys who looked about their age.

"Iris!" Samantha cried, leaping out of her seat upon her friend's arrival. "I was wondering where you were!"

Iris smiled and hugged her overly enthusiastic friend.

Samantha turned to face the boys. "My parents are friends with these guys' parents. So your par—your dad would probably know them. Caleb Nott and Ian Flint."

"Hi."

"This is Iris Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" said Ian. He was unattractive with messy teeth to match is messy black hair. His nose looked like someone had hit it with a Quidditch bat and his body kind of like it was having some trouble growing upwards.

Iris nodded.

"So, like, Lucius and Draco, right?"

Iris nodded again, feeling hesitant of what he was going to say next.

"Whoa, we haven't heard about your dad since he got out of Azkaban."

Iris felt the urge to kick this kid in the balls. He was two years old when her father got out of Azkaban, what did he know? Iris chose, instead, to not respond. However, she was ready to kick if further provoked.

"Let's sit down," Samantha said, clearly sensing the awkwardness that had reared its ugly head on them.

Iris practically leapt for the seat next to Caleb. Not only was he not Ian, he wasn't too bad looking, either. That way she'd have something else to think about besides how much she wanted to knock out Ian's ugly teeth.

* * *

When Liam, Edith, and Ben first reached Platform 9 ¾ with their parents, they were bombarded by former classmates of their parents and aunts and uncles. In the midst of all this chaos, the three first-years were introduced to three more first-years: Alfie Jordan, whom they had met a few times before – although no one remembered – because Alfie's father had kept in touch with Fred and George; Nick Kent, whose mum had something to do with Gryffindor Quidditch; and Georgina Wood, whose parents also had something to do with Gryffindor Quidditch.

As far as Edith, Ben, and Liam could tell, their parents didn't really have lives at Hogwarts beyond Quidditch.

So the six all squished into one compartment in the train, close to their final destination. It had been pouring buckets of rain outside for quite some time now, as the six would eventually learn was customary for this anxious ride. Ben was balancing a football on his lap, which he had had out since they left their home. When he met Nick, he learned that Nick, too, since he had a Muggle father and grew up amidst many Muggle customs, was very interested in football. They had been talking about it incessantly ever since the train pulled out of the station.

"Yeah, and I really hate it because I can never see any real games or anything because we don't have a TV. And my parents aren't going to take me to any, obviously," Ben complained.

"Yeah, that sucks. My mum's pretty into Quidditch so I think it annoys her a bit that I like football more. But I've already started flying so I'm going to try out for my house's Quidditch team next year," Nick replied.

Ben frowned. "I'm boycotting the Quidditch teams."

"Why?"

"Because there shouldn't _just_ be Quidditch at Hogwarts. It's a stupid sport, anyway—all you do is fly around on brooms throwing balls at each other."

"He's afraid of flying," said Edith.

"I am _not_ afraid of flying, Edith. I've never been on a broomstick before."

"Exactly."

Suddenly, someone burst through the compartment door, making a loud entrance. It was Tom (Fred's son), followed closely by Atticus (George's son).

"So how are my favorite cousins doing?" Tom asked boldly, facing his cousins who sat uncomfortably on one side of the compartment. He turned slightly toward the other three. "And their new best friends."

"Fine," Ben answered quickly, making a face that suggested his two cousins should leave as soon as they could.

"You know, it's probably a good thing you're getting acquainted now," explained Atticus, "Because you'll probably all be in Gryffindor together anyway. Although, if one or more of you aren't, then that will just be awful because you'll be forced to turn against each other since you're in different houses."

The six eleven-year-olds looked a little unwell.

"There's a lot of rivalry at Hogwarts." Tom picked casually at a nail.

"That's really cool. But you probably don't want to be seen in a compartment with a group of lame first-years, now do you?" Ben tried.

Atticus and Tom shrugged in unison. It was kind of frightening how much alike they could be at times. It was something that sparked later on in their not particularly long—yet—lives. The two started spending a lot more time together just before Atticus left for his first year at Hogwarts (he and Tom weren't very far apart in age, just a few months, but Tom was born late enough in the year that he was put in the class below Atticus's).

Someone else slid open the compartment door, entering with a sigh. "Will you two get out of here?" It was Charlotte, looking particularly peeved.

"Did you hear Dominica babbling about some freaky-looking girl she talked to that she swore was that Malfoy guy's kid?" Atticus asked Charlotte.

"Of course I did. But I don't really see what the big deal about this Malfoy character is. So he was mean to Ron and Ginny and Hermione and Harry at Hogwarts. Enough is enough." She pushed by her cousins to face the younger ones. "How are you all doing?" she asked sweetly. "Is everything okay? They're not bothering you too much?"

"Oh, no, they're bothering us," was Liam's cynically sarcastic response.

"Okay. I'll try and get them to leave. Are you all okay, though?" She made a point to turn and face the new three.

All six nodded diligently. Edith was very thankful for Charlotte's thoughtfulness and concern for her cousins who were new to Hogwarts. Ben and Liam, however, could do without. After all, they were obnoxious eleven-year-old boys who were being thrown out on their own for the very first time. And they couldn't be more thrilled.

* * *

"Jordan, Alfred," read Professor Sprout in a clear voice from her spot in the front of the room, facing the line of quivering, frightened first years as they awaited their sorting.

Alfie stepped forward, trying to maintain some confidence, and sat slowly down on the stool placed before the group. After only a few moments' hesitation the hat shouted, "Gryffindor!"

Next came, "Kent, Nicholas."

Iris was trying desperately to stop her body from shaking as the person standing very closely to her right stepped forward, allowing a distressing draught to take his place. She had absolutely no idea what house she was going to be placed in. Hogwarts was something her parents never spoke of at home. Iris knew that they had gone there, but that was about the extent of it. She wasn't even totally sure what house her parents were in. She felt like it was Slytherin—she thought she'd heard her father speak about it very briefly among friends the few times he was allowed to see them, or that he'd let it slip into conversation from time to time—but she couldn't be quite sure. She was terrified of what was going to happen when that fat teacher called her name.

"Malfoy, Iris."

Not wanting to take an unnecessary amount of time, Iris briskly made her way the few feet ahead to the stool. She placed the weathered old hat lightly atop her head and let out an involuntary spasm when she heard it speaking to her.

"Let's see…"

_Oh, bugger_, she thought, looking out into the other students, sitting at their house tables. A few faces looked a little puzzled, a little concerned, and some were laughing. She spotted the girl who spoke to her on the Hogwarts Express looking a little disconcertingly smug at the Gryffindor table.

"Come, now, I can hear you cursing," said the hat, seeming to somehow be able to penetrate her thoughts and speak to her through her mind.

_Sorry_. Dear Merlin, she was talking to a hat.

"It's quite alright. So now, what do we have here? Alright, then, I see some very bright intelligence—good for Ravenclaw. You're most certainly bold enough for Gryffindor. However… you're a Malfoy, eh? And your mother is … Miss Parkinson? Interesting, but not at all a surprise. I suppose you want to be in Slytherin."

_My parents never spoke about Hogwarts._

"Never spoke about Hogwarts? Dear me, much has happened in the last fifteen years."

Iris noticed her fellow students beginning to look impatient. _Maybe you should hurry up a bit?_

"Sorry, I'm getting old. Okay, well, then, if you must rush me. This is a tough one. SLYTHERIN!"

Iris slid deftly off the seat, her jitters finally subsiding, and placed the hat carefully back upon the stood as though it might crumble at her fingertips with one misplacement. She whipped around, ready to leave this terrifying line and join her new house. As she turned, however, she caught the eye of someone standing on the other side of Caleb, who she had been next to. It was a boy, who seemed to be staring at her with utmost curiosity, and even a small glint of panic. Iris was used to odd looks, but there was something genuine about this boy's. She couldn't really imagine what she had done to make him so frightened and inquisitive, but she didn't dwell on it and continued her march to the Slytherin table.

* * *

"Potter, Liam."

Liam was still thinking about that freaky girl with the black eyes. She had turned and looked straight at him, piercing him with irises darker than her pitch black pupils—interestingly enough, her name was Iris. There was something truly intriguing about her disturbing looks. And it didn't help that she was obviously the child her mother had been warning him about since he was five: "And if you have someone with the last name _Malfoy_ in your class," his mother would always say so determinedly, "stay away from them. The Malfoys are up to no good."

"Potter, Liam." The voice sounded more stern this time.

It still didn't register with Liam until the kid to his left jabbed him in his side. Liam flew back to reality and stumbled forward to the stool. He jammed the ugly, wrinkled, old hat on his head, hoping to cover his face, rosy from embarrassment.

"Oh, the Potter progeny! How I have been waiting for this moment. Let's see now…" The hat started mumbling more toward itself than Liam. He was a little too ashamed at his lack of hearing to comprehend the fact that he could hear a hat speaking in his thoughts. "…yes, yes, quite a bit clearer than your father. Much more like your mother. Alright then, Gryffindor it is." The hat was now speaking to the whole crowd when it cried, "Gryffindor!"

Liam yanked the hat off his head and rapidly headed toward the Gryffindor table to join his cousins.

* * *

Draco was sleeping quietly in his bed when he awoke with a start. There was something moving downstairs. He shot up in his bed like an animal. It was only a few months after Iris's departure and his life had become an endless cycle of routines. He had long been awaiting some excitement in his life, but a robber wasn't quite what he was hoping for. He grabbed his wand off his nightstand and slowly crept out of his bedroom and down the hall. He stood perched, ready to strike, at the top of the staircase and peered down the stairs. All he saw were disconcerting shadows cast by the glow of the moonlight entering the windows. He tiptoed downstairs and into the living room where he jumped at the sight of a figure seated on the couch. What an odd thing for a burglar to do, sit on his couch? If Draco were to rob someone's house, the last thing he would probably do would be to relax on the person whose house he was robbing's couch.

The person stood up and said, "Draco?"

He almost jumped again before he realised that he recognised the voice. It was Pansy's. "Pansy?" he spoke warily into the darkness.

She stepped forward, her body crossing through the white light of the moon and illuminating her features. It was, indeed, her. She stared up at Draco with those big, black eyes of hers. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." It wasn't, but he said it anyway. He wrapped his arms around his wife and let her sob into his shoulder.

* * *

Author's note: Soon enough I'll hit a year and stay there in the story, but for now I'm just bouncing around between important moments. So please review and say what's on your mind, even if it's negative, because I haven't gotten a lot of reviews and I really appreciate all that you have to say. Thanks! 


	4. Labours, Letters, and Lies

**Author's Note: **I have gotten a very dismal and somewhat depressing amount of reviews for this story, but I shall continue it for my own sake because I enjoy writing it. That's not to say that I don't want/appreciate/love reviews. Because I do.

**IV**

**Labors, Letters, and Lies**

"Are you trying out for the Quidditch team, Iris?"

Iris looked up from her homework. Samantha was standing next to her in the Slytherin Common room. "No," was Iris's response. Around her, dozens of kids were babbling about Quidditch, comparing their broomsticks, and mentally preparing themselves for the tryouts that were about to occur.

"Why not? Didn't your father play?"

"Yeah. But I don't want to. Why, are you trying out?"

Samantha shrugged. "I figure I may as well. My dad played. With yours," she added, as though it was a side note.

"You didn't tell me you were going to try out," Iris said, laying her quill down on her parchment.

Samantha shrugged self-protectively. "I didn't know I told you everything."

Iris gave her a confused look.

Samantha chose to ignore her friend's glares. "Why, would you have decided to try out if you had known that I was?"

Iris went back to her Charms essay. "No." Iris had a feeling Samantha was only trying out because Caleb and Ian were. And Iris had been suspecting that Samantha had a big fat crush on Caleb since the end of their first year.

"Are you going to come down and watch, though?" Samantha asked.

"Well, I have to write this Charms essay—"

"Oh, Charms, shmarms," Samantha joked badly, flipping her hand as though swatting away the idea of completing any work during Quidditch tryouts. "Come down and watch." She bent over so she was level with her friend's hunched over form. "You know you want to."

Iris sighed. "Okay, I'll try, but if you keep bothering me, chances are I won't be done yet."

"Jeez… someone's crabby when they do their homework…" Samantha slinked off to go find more exciting people to babble with.

* * *

"Come on. You're watching."

"I am not. Watching means I'm supporting the sport, which I will _not_ do." Ben was juggling his football dangerously in the center of the common room as he spoke.

"But think of it this way: you're not supporting Quidditch. You're supporting your dear old cousin Liam and your dear old twin sister Edith," Liam expressed agitatedly, practically begging the curly-haired boy.

"No." Ben tossed the ball up with his foot theatrically and then whacked it with his forehead. It bounced off and straight into a luckily unlit lamp, which proceeded to shatter into pieces. "Oh, bugger."

"Reparo," Liam grumbled, pointing his wand at the shards almost accusationally.

Ben turned to Liam. "Look, I know you have no confidence in your Quidditch playing skills whatsoever, so why don't you just not try out?"

Liam rolled his blue eyes. "Because everyone's expecting me to. My parents are Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley. One's a Hogwarts legend and the other is almost a Hogwarts legend. What am I supposed to do? Seem like some sort of wimp?"

Ben scoffed. "That's ridiculous. Just don't try out. That makes more sense than trying out and being really bad and embarrassing yourself."

"Easy for you to say."

Ben narrowed his eyes, ready to snap back with some un-witty retort about how Liam must have been suggesting that Ben's parents weren't nearly as great and famous as his were, when his buoyant, auburn-haired twin sister bounded down the staircase from the girls' dormitory.

"Come on, Liam," she urged, striding toward the portrait hole all dolled up in her Quidditch gear already. She held her Firebolt—Firebolts are outdated by now—aloft at her side, not letting it waver as she waited expectantly for her cousin. "The tryouts are starting in two minutes."

Liam gave Ben a pained look, but the taller of the two shook his head adamantly. "No, I am not coming. You got yourself into this, you can deal with the future consequences or get out of it." He started juggling the football again.

"Fine. But who's going to be here when something else needs repairing?"

"I can say the incantation myself!"

* * *

"Alright, hello, everyone. Thank you all for coming down here on this foggy Saturday morning. Welcome to the Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts. As you may or may not know, I'm Etienne Weasley, I'm the captain of the team." The tall and agile Etienne was standing before a large group of mainly second and third years, pacing back and forth as he gave his speech uncomfortably. He was never much for public speaking, but it came with the job.

"Ugh, what am I doing here?" Liam asked himself irritatedly.

"Calm down. It's not going to be that bad. You've only been on a broom a few times," Edith attempted consolingly.

"Exactly," Liam said dismally.

"Please stop being so hard on yourself. You don't deserve it. It's just Etienne; he's not going to be that mean to you."

"What do you mean it's just Etienne—?" Etienne was the eldest of all the Weasley cousins, and therefore the most intimidating by Liam's standards. Despite the fact that he was substantially nicer than Virginie, Dominica, and sometimes even Lucas.

"I mean that it's just Etienne. He's not going to work you extra hard. It's not like it's Dominica running the tryouts, or any—"

But Edith was cut off by her so-called nice and kind cousin, that supposedly wasn't going to go hard on them. "No talking while I'm talking, please." He gave the two an obnoxious glance.

Edith was a little shocked. Was Etienne really going to treat his own, innocent flesh and blood like that?

Liam grimaced. This didn't bode well for the rest of the tryouts.

The two both saw Lucas snickering to himself as he stood with the other Chasers.

Again, did not bode well.

"Now," Etienne continued, getting more into his role as Quidditch captain, "I'm looking for a Chaser, a Keeper, and two Beaters, so those will be the positions you'll be doing drills and things for today. If you think you have an idea of what you might be best at, I'd like you split into groups, so Chasers over there, Beaters down at that end, and Keepers over there."

Liam looked at Edith with terror in his eyes.

"Let's just go to the Chasers. That'll be easiest," she suggested, turning to her left.

As though on queue, Etienne suddenly announced, "If you're not sure where to go, just stay where you are and we'll stick you in a group and rotate you around… I guess…"

Lucas's laughter spouted out once more.

"I'll just stay here," Liam said, stopping in his tracks.

Edith continued to the Chaser group and Liam took a few timid steps toward the cluster of trembling second years that had stayed in the middle.

"Alright, then. Let's begin."

Liam was sent up with the Beaters, first, which Etienne soon realized was an incredibly big mistake. He didn't quite have enough arm strength to hit the bludger, nor did he have good enough balance to be able to not knock himself over when thrusting all his muscle into whacking the bludger, nor did he quite have the coordination to apply all these skills—or lack thereof—to one action. So he was quickly tossed into the pool of Chasers, where he met back with Edith, who happened to be doing a fantastically smashing job of dodging bludgers, catching every quaffle that came within ten feet of her, and managing to stay on her broomstick. Liam felt sick to his stomach as he was asked to step forward (or fly forward, rather) to try and catch some quaffles that Lucas was to toss trickily at him. When that, too, failed miserably, his last hope was the Keeper tryout, but at this time any miniscule ounce of confidence that may have lain dormant in the back of Liam's brain at the start of the tryouts had now awoken and fled without a trace to go rest in the back fo someone else's mind, because it surely wasn't necessary for a kid who was failing at every Quidditch task set before him. Liam mentally cursed his family for setting up this stupid standard for him.

"Etienne?" Liam spoke in a strangled voice.

"Yeah?" his red-haired cousin glided over to him on his broomstick, as though the air was butter and he was some sort of charming dictator of a butterknife.

"Can I just sit this out? I know I'm not going to make the team."

"Oh, don't say that." Out of nowhere, Etienne had become the "friendly cousin" once again, and started pulling shit out of his ass like nobody's business.

Liam mentally rolled his eyes. "Seriously. I'd rather just sit out."

"You sure? You have some potential."

_Some_ being the operative word. Besides, it wasn't like Liam was having fun. At all. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Alright. You can sit in the stands."

Liam nodded and flew glumly over to the bleachers, where he took a seat amongst a few onlookers. He soon ascertained that the only two real candidates for the open Chaser position were Edith, and the girl who happened to be her best friend, Georgina Wood. Being the daughter of Oliver and Katie Bell, Liam surmised that Georgina, indeed, had more to live up to in terms of Quidditch than he did—even though that meant that in terms of saving the world and all that jazz, Liam had more to live up to. But at least Georgina was excellent at what she was supposed to be good at. She flew around the pitch like a pro, just as Edith did. It was a pretty close call.

Liam leaned back and attempted to enjoy the rest of the tryouts, while pushing his Charms essay as far as he could into the back of his brain. Maybe to where the smidgen of confidence had been sleeping.

* * *

Iris sat at the breakfast table a few mornings later with Samantha, before classes started.

"I'm sorry you didn't make the team, Sam," she said comfortingly.

Samantha shrugged, shoving a forkful of eggs into her mouth. "It's okay. I didn't really expect to make it."

Iris nodded as Caleb and Ian joined them. While Samantha and Caleb didn't make the team, Ian, surprisingly enough, since he didn't seem to be good at much of anything, had been chosen as beater. It kind of worked with his bulky, Milicent Bulstrode-esque exterior.

The owls suddenly came in, delivering the days' mail. Iris was pleasantly surprised to have one drop just to the left of her hot cereal. Her dad sent her letters every so often, but it was always equally nice when one came. She tore it open hastily.

_Dear Iris,_

_I hate to inform you of such bad news, but it seems that your mother has run off again. I didn't tell you last year, but after returning she disappeared for about a week and a half in March. I didn't want to burden you with the information, so I kept it to myself since she returned so soon. This time she's been gone for over two weeks now, so I figure you should know. I suspect this to be a regular occurrence for her, so that's why I think it's important that you know and perhaps get the idea that your mother probably isn't completely mentally stable. Which isnt' to say, of course, that I'm going to ship her off to St. Mungo's at any minute, but just meaning that we have to be extra-sensitive to her, is all. I hate to tell you all this through a letter, but the school really leaves me no choice. I hope everything else is well, and again, I really apologize for having to spring this on you._

_Lots of love,_

_Dad_

Iris resisted the urge to crumple up the letter and stomp on it before spitting on it and ripping it into six thousand pieces. It wasn't her father, necessarily, that pissed her off so much—quite frankly she felt sorry for him and his situation, as she did last year. It was her mother, though. Her mother had no right to disappear the way she did. What problems did she have that were so big they required her to ditch her husband and daughter so frequently? What could possibly be so much more important than her family, or so burdening that it caused her to act this way?

"What is it?" Samantha asked, sensing her friend's ungrateful demeanor.

Iris shrugged. "I don't know," she answered honestly.

* * *

Hermione was sitting in the living room, reading a book, when Edith and Ben's owl flew in through the window and dropped a letter on her lap. She instantly recognized Edith's handwriting scribbled excitedly on the front.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_Just wanted to tell you both that I made the Gryffindor Quidditch team! I'm a Chaser alongside Lucas! And also this other boy named Ennis McLaggen. Georgina made the team, too! She's Keeper. I'm so excited. I can't wait to start practices. Well, I just thought I'd tell you that. I have to go now, though. Bye!_

_Love,_

_Edith_

Hermione couldn't help her natural animal instincts to feel a twang of irritation and anger spur up in her body after reading her daughter's letter. Not only was she following her father's footsteps in becoming utterly Quidditch-obsessed—which they'd learned sometime earlier, but just assumed it was to try and go against her brother's obsession with Muggle football—but she was playing along-side and _in the same position_ as Cormac McLaggen's child. Hermione had to jump to the conclusion that Ennis McLaggen was related to Cormac. Who else had that last name?

"Good morning, Hermione." It was a Sunday, so Ron and Hermione were both off work. "What's that?" He pointed to the letter she had clutched in her fist.

"What? Nothing." She crumpled it some more. Hermione had no idea what was overcoming her, and she didn't really like it. But then again, she wasn't stopping her secretiveness.

Ron furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Okay, then…" He headed into the kitchen.

Hermione supposed that she didn't want Ron to know about his and Edith's common personality traits. It bothered her enough already that neither of the twins had proven to be as studious as she was during her years at Hogwarts. She shoved the piece of parchment into her pocket and went back to her reading.

* * *

Ron entered the kitchen to find six-year-old Angus shoving massive spoonfuls of peanut butter into his mouth, looking guilty as he caught his father's eye.

"Angus, what are you doing?" Ron asked, a slight smile spreading across his face.

Angus giggled.

Ron lowered his voice as he got closer to his son. "I'll tell you what; I'll let you have all the peanut butter you'd like if you do something for me."

"Ooh, what?!" Angus squealed.

"Ssssh! You have to be quiet, okay? It's a secret."

Angus nodded sincerely.

"Okay," Ron whispered, getting a little paranoid, "Mummy has a letter that Daddy wants to see, but she's not letting Daddy see it. So you have to try and get it from her, but don't let her know that I asked you to, okay?"

Angus nodded again.

"Do you understand?"

Third nod.

"So what are you going to do?"

"Get a letter from Mummy," Angus said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"But what else?"

"I don't know."

"Are you going to go up to Mummy and ask her for it?"

"…No…"

"No, you're not. You're going to use your super spy skills to get it from her creatively."

"Okay…" Angus didn't sound very convinced.

"So you're not going to say 'Mummy, can I see the letter in your pocket?' You're going to say something like 'Mummy, it looks like there's a letter in your pocket. Can I see?' Or, better yet, maybe she hasn't put it in her pocket yet. Anyway, you should go."

Angus nodded officially and then scampered out of the kitchen. Ron followed him and listened by the door.

"Hi, Angus," Hermione said in a sweet voice.

"Mummy, it looks like there's a letter in your pocket. Can I see?"

Ron slapped himself on the forehead.

"Ron?" Hermione's voice called from the living room. "Ron, I know you're out there."

He entered bashfully. Angus giggled as he lay on the couch with his head in his mom's lap.

"How evil of you, employing our kids to do your dirty work."

"What? I'm not the one who's hiding letters from their spouse."

"Fine, you can read it," Hermione allowed reluctantly, shoving the crinkled paper towards her husband.

He flattened it out and started reading, his face lighting up more and more brightly with every word he saw. "This is fantastic! Why wouldn't you let me see it?"

"Daddy, can I have my peanut butter now?" Angus asked, sliding off the couch.

"Yes." Ron wasn't really paying attention. He was admittedly baffled by his wife's actions.

"Because… I didn't want you to see how much the twins are turning out to be you. But in two people. And one girl."

Ron frowned. "Why not?"

"Because."

"Because they're not like you? And you were hoping against hopes that Edith would turn out to be your clone?" He sat down on the couch.

Hermione didn't respond.

"I can already tell that Vicky's going to be the braniac of the bunch. And she's at Hogwarts, so you'll see it soon enough."

Hermione sighed.

"This is very unlike you."

"I know." She paused. "It felt kind of weird. That's why I gave in."

"Thought so." He gave his wife a kiss on the forehead.

* * *

**End Note: **Hmm… Okay. Review please. Really. Thoughts are very welcomed. 


	5. Paternal Instinct

**V**

**Paternal Instinct**

Ben realised basically from the minute stepped off the Hogwarts Express his first year that girls really, really liked him. He was very attractive, with floppy, light brown hair that gradually became more thickly curled as he got older, a very tall and thin frame, and golden skin—he'd inherited his mother's easily-tanned skin, not his father's freckly epidermis. He also had the added charm of being devoted to a Muggle activity, and the appeal of rebelling against a Hogwarts tradition. So it was no surprise that he would find himself in the predicament he had stumbled upon during his third year.

But let's start from the beginning, shall we?

He was sitting in The Three Broomsticks with Liam one frosty winter day soon before Christmas. Love was in the air, as always around the holidays, and the two were witnessing a group of Hufflepuff girls from their year ogling at Ben from afar.

"I'm telling you, she wants you," Liam assured, sipping his butterbeer cautiously. He had yet to take off his gloves, coat, and scarf, even though they'd been in the tavern for quite some time.

"Stop," Ben ordered. He didn't want to get overly self-assured.

"I'm not joking though. Why else would they be staring and giggling at you?"

"They're staring and _laughing_ at you. You haven't even taken your bloody gloves off yet."

Liam frowned and started peeling off his layers resentfully. "You need to have more confidence. Please just realize that every girl in this school is in love with you."

"Please stop."

"Do you think any of those girls are pretty?" Liam started shaking his arm violently, attempting to get his coat off.

Ben studied the four girls from afar during the short moment they had chosen to look away. They were talking avidly amongst themselves. "I guess… whatever her name is—Jemma Finch-Fletchley. She's kind of pretty."

"There you go. You can have Jemma Finch-Fletchley in a heartbeat."

"Whatever. Why are we talking about this? Only girls talk about this kind of stuff. This is what they're supposed to be talking about, not us."

Liam rolled his eyes. "All I'm saying is that you can just go up to Jemma and say, 'Hey Jemma, let's go walk down the street together.' And she'd jump up and go walk down the street with you."

"I don't even get the point you're trying to make."

"My point is," Liam slammed his hand on the table, "is that you have complete control over them. You can do whatever you want."

"Yeah, yeah."

However uninterested Ben may have sounded, his cousin's motivational speech did have some residual effects on his thoughts. As they returned to classes that Monday, Liam's voice kept slipping into his mind… _You have complete control over them… You can do whatever you want…_

He rather liked that idea.

So as he was making his way to the Great Hall for lunch one day, he was pleased to see Jemma on her way down a semi-crowded third floor corridor, presumably heading to the same destination. He sped up just a bit, ready to accidentally bump into her. He walked by and knocked her books a little.

"Sorry—" He turned around. "Oh, hey, Jemma."

Wasn't he just King Smooth?

"Hi," she said pleasantly.

"You heading to the Great Hall?"

She nodded. Her lips twitched just slightly, as though she was fighting the urge to burst into laughter.

He fell into line next to her as they headed toward a staircase. "So, you going home for the Christmas holiday?"

"Yeah." She pursed her lips, again as though she was forcing herself not to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

She shook her head, letting out a fast breath. "Nothing."

"Okay…" He thought for a moment. "Did you do the Defence Against the Dark Arts essay?"

"What? Oh, yeah."

"It's so hard. I've been putting it off for so long. It's due on Wednesday, right?"

"Yeah."

"What did you write about?"

"Basilisks."

"Basilisks?"

"My dad got petrified by one in his second year here, so I thought it made sense to do them, I guess."

"That's cool." Ben glanced over at her. Jemma's eyes were darting around and she looked, again, like she was trying not to laugh. He found her giggliness almost a little endearing, and kind of attractive.

"What do you think you'll do yours on?" she asked with a massive smile that suggested she was a little fed up with herself.

Ben shrugged. "That's what I can't decide." Then he stopped. They were alone in a corridor now, almost at the Great Hall. He looked up and pointed at the lone leaf of mistletoe that was dangling above their heads in a very clichéd way. Instantly the smile was torn off Jemma's face as though she'd just been pounced on by a Dementor.

"Mistletoe," he said stupidly.

Jemma blinked.

Of course, at Hogwarts, this wasn't just any mistletoe; this was charmed mistletoe, and soon Jemma and Ben could feel their heads gravitating towards one another.

Ben was quite elated that this mistletoe was charmed, because, although he was a pretty audacious young thirteen-year-old, he was going to have to muster up a bit more self-confidence to be able to just start kissing Jemma Finch-Fletchley in the middle of a potentially crowded first floor hallway.

And needless to say, very, very deep down inside, Jemma couldn't help but feel somewhat proud that she was the girl who took away Ben Weasley's kissing virginity.

* * *

"Miss Malfoy?" 

Iris's head snapped up from the unkempt split ends she had been examining.

"Miss Malfoy, when I ask you a question, it would be kind of you to respond," Professor McGonagall scolded.

"Sorry." Iris let her fingerful of hair fall down against her shoulder.

"Would anyone care to tell me what the Homorphus Charm is?" McGonagall glared at Iris. "This would be your chance to redeem yourself."

She put her hand up sheepishly. "It's a nonexistent charm used to change an Animagus back to their original shape."

"Why do you say it's nonexistent?"

"Well, it's never completely been proven—"

"Very good." McGonagall turned to badger another student.

Iris glanced to her right, where Caleb was sitting at the desk across from hers. He gave her a lighthearted sardonic thumbs-up. She rolled her eyes, but in the corner of her vision she could see Samantha sitting resentfully at her desk. Iris and Caleb had gotten quite a bit _closer_ these last months of their fourth year, and Samantha was incredibly bitter about it. She hadn't spoken to Iris much in about five months. It turned out, unsurprisingly, that Iris's suspicions of Samantha's secret love for Caleb were characteristically true.

Class ended several minutes later, and Iris started gathering up her stuff. She could hear Caleb talking next to her to the kids around him, probably including her.

"Who wants to come to the Owlery with me?" he asked in a sarcastically excited voice.

Iris remembered the letter she had to send to her father. "I'll come," she offered. "I have to send my dad a letter." She glanced over in Samantha's direction. Her former friend was stalking off, catching up to two other Slytherin girls. Iris had attempted to make amends with Samantha, but she didn't really prevail in her efforts. She hoped that eventually it would all cool down—after all, it was just typical school girl drama, wasn't it?

"Let's go."

The two left the Transfiguration classroom and expertly navigated the winding halls of Hogwarts until they reached the Owlery. They found their respective owls and sent them off with their letters.

"So," Caleb started, a somewhat serious tone in his voice, "how's, you know, everything?" Most people knew about Iris's family drama. The wizarding world was an unfortunately small one.

Iris wet her lips. "It's… okay."

Caleb took a step closer to her, his foot crunching on something indiscernible on the poop-strewn ground. He made a reflexive face of severe discomfort, which caused Iris to emit the smallest of laughs. "You sure?" he asked, trying to ignore what was most likely some mouse skeleton that he had just stepped on.

She shrugged and looked away. "I don't really know anymore." Tucking a strand of thin blonde hair behind her ear, she looked back at him. She suddenly wanted to pour her heart out to Caleb. She'd never gotten particularly close to him until this year, so this newly sprouting urge was quite peculiar, but prevalent nonetheless.

"Is your mum at home right now?" Iris had no idea how Caleb knew so intimately about her mother's disappearances and reappearances, but it didn't make her nervous that he did.

She shook her head. "No. She's been gone since Christmas. My dad's a wreck, actually."

"You seem pretty calm," Caleb commented, noticing her aloof demeanour. Iris was never one to show her emotions, but he wanted her to. He knew there was something pent-up inside, and he wanted it to come out.

"I'm not." She thought she could feel the odd prickling sensation of tears in the back of her eyes. _Oh, Merlin,_ she thought. _This is getting a little too dramatic… Don't you let those bloody waterworks start up, Iris._

"Well, you know, I'm here." Iris's pale cheeks turned a slight shade of pink.

Her lip quivered ever so slightly. "I know."

Without warning Caleb pulled her into a tight embrace. Sure, they'd kissed plenty before, but what was different about this innocent little hug was that it actually meant something. It wasn't about a purely physical attraction or the fact that they were hanging out with friends and felt it would be fun to run off in a corner and go snog. This was what Caleb wanted; her true emotions were now spilling into his shirtsleeve. No one ever believed that Caleb Nott was a sensitive person with feelings, but he'd let Iris see that he was. He'd let her understand that he was a human being, and she did.

* * *

It was the very last day of their fourth year, and Liam, Edith, Ben, Georgina, and Jemma were spending it outside in the bright and heavily beaming sunshine. Liam was standing aggravated in front of a wide rock as Ben dribbled a football around and shot it without warning at Liam, sometimes uncomfortably close to his cousin's head. Meanwhile the girls lay around lazily a few feet away gossiping, as girls tend to do. 

"Fabulous," Liam grumbled, noticing a few figures ascending the steps of the castle. "Here come the Arsehole Brigade."

"What?" Ben asked, kicking the ball at a peculiar angle, so it headed straight at Liam's face.

He ducked spastically. "Bloody—Jesus!" Liam frowned and whacked the ball as hard as he could angrily back at his cousin.

"Calm down. What did you say before? Who's coming?" He glanced over his shoulder. "Oh. _Them_."

'The Arsehole Brigade', or, more politely, 'Them' referred to Caleb, Iris, Ian, and a few other obnoxious Slytherin folk. Caleb opened his mouth as he strolled by cockily.

"What's with all the angry faces?" he questioned, quickly glimpsing at the group they'd just encountered.

"Nothing at all," replied Ben.

"Really? Because I see you all staring at me so angrily and I'm wondering what I've done—"

"What you've done?" Ben snapped around, holding the football slightly menacingly.

"Oh, put a sock in it," Edith shouted, unhappy with the constant quarrels the two were getting into.

"Look at that." Caleb raised a hand toward Edith. "Even your own sister—"

"The both of you!" she added, not even bothering to look in their direction.

Liam noticed Iris giggle just slightly at Edith's interjection, her black eyes glistening.

The group continued marching across the grounds.

"Where are they off to?" Ben wondered, squeezing the ball so tightly it looked as though he might pop it.

"Probably to do something illegal," said Liam.

"You know, Edith, I don't understand why you needed to butt in like that," said Ben agitatedly.

"Because you're just digging yourself deeper, Ben," she explained, rolling over on the grass. "You need to start being the bigger person."

"Bigger person my arse! Who was the bigger person and ever actually _got_ anywhere?"

Edith rolled her eyes.

* * *

It was a filthily sticky day in July and Liam was unhappily making his way through Diagon Alley in search for a birthday present for Virginie. It was her sixteenth birthday in just a few days, and Ginny had thrust a pouch of Galleons at her son and sent him off without so much as a simple instruction like, "Get her something for her owl!" or "She likes leather-bound books!" Needless to say, Liam was a bit beyond perturbed. 

He made his first stop in Eeylops Owl Emporium. The upsetting stench of animal feces was the first to enter his nose. He started through the rows and rows of various animals and all the little tidbits and knick-knacks one could buy to accompany their pet. He was pretty sure that Virginie had an owl, however he wasn't really sure what she might need for it. There was an alarm that went off every time the owl relieved itself. But that would probably get really annoying if you had an animal that did so a lot, as animals are prone to doing. Then there was the owl tracking device that notified you if your owl didn't reach its destination within a certain amount of days. It was fairly expensive, however. Liam was very close to buying the owl food that turned the animal's feathers various colours depending on which piece it ate. He pictured the look on his mum's face when he brought that home, however, and put it back on its shelf. His father, on the other hand, would probably get a kick out of it. But it wasn't quite worth it.

Empty handed, Liam left the store and crossed the street to Flourish & Blott's. Maybe Virginie wouldn't quite mind a leather-bound book of some sort. He was excited to discover a section marked "Teen Reading" upstairs toward the back of the store. After browsing and snickering at the titles—_Why I Should've Used the Contraceptive Charm_, _Vampire Love_, _A Muggle Affair_—something finally caught Liam's eye. Unfortunately, it wasn't a book. He caught sight of a patch of blindingly white blonde hair through the space in the bookshelf from which he had just retrieved _A Muggle Affair_. Crouching down just a bit, Liam was able to see Iris Malfoy through the gap. Just as he was staring up at her, for the split second that he happened to be doing so, she turned and looked straight at him. He snapped upright and shoved _A Muggle Affair_ back in its place, horrifyingly embarrassed by his actions. He was just looking at her to confirm that she _was_ Iris and that he wasn't just imagining things, and now he looked like he was stalking the girl. A few moments later, she appeared at the end of the aisle.

"I didn't know you were a fan of the Young Witch genre," she said, somehow without the expected drips of spite and malice in her voice.

"I'm shopping for my cousin," Liam replied, afraid his cheeks would burst into flame within the minute.

"It's alright; I won't tell anyone."

"No, seriously."

She looked at him slightly dubiously. "Just because my boyfriend can be a complete jerk and hates you for no reason doesn't mean that I am or do."

"You don't hate me?"

"I don't know you."

"Fair enough." He paused, his eyes lingering on _A Muggle Affair_. "Any suggestions?"

"Who's it for?"

"Virginie."

"I don't really know her. You sure she's into this type of book?"

Liam shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea."

She grabbed a spine and dragged it off the bookshelf, dropping it in Liam's hands. "Go with this one." It was then she who shrugged, before marching off to her side of the bookshelves.

Liam looked down. _A Muggle Affair_. Well, then.

Liam went back downstairs and purchased the book. He stepped outside and it wasn't long before he spotted another Hogwarts student. It was very unfortunate how common it was to see Hogwarts kids prowling around Diagon Alley. This time it was Caleb, and Liam briefly wondered if he was off looking for Iris, when the Slytherin boy took a sharp turn and headed down Knockturn Alley.

Liam's unfortunate Harry-like stalker instinct kicked in and he felt as though now was as good a time as ever to follow someone around. So he did just that and scampered over to Knockturn Alley.

He's never actually _been_ down Knockturn Alley before, but it was just as he imagined it—dank, creepy, and bad-smelling. Somehow the temperature dropped about ten degrees as he entered the shady street. Caleb was creeping about rather determinedly. Finally, he entered a store. The words _Borgin and Burkes_ were written above the big glass window in the front of the shop in fancy—yet somehow malevolent—cursive. Liam felt a little lost, so he decided to wait awkwardly outside and pretend that he didn't look completely out of place and obviously uncomfortable. He found a strategic spot where his body would be hidden from Caleb's view, but he was still able to peer through the window of the shop and see what the boy was up to. Liam could see Caleb approach the counter and begin talking to someone, but from his angle could not make out who it was.

Finally they got to the good stuff and an item was placed on the counter in front of Caleb. It was a ring. Liam craned his neck to get a better look, but wasn't nearly close enough to be able to tell what was on it. All he could see was that it was very large. However, Caleb never put it on. He simple examined it very slowly for quite some time before handing over a large sum of money. He then glanced toward the entrance of the shop and caught sight of Liam, before Liam could even realise that he was standing so visibly in the window. Caleb leered at Liam and quickly came outside.

"Fancy seeing you here," he said obnoxiously.

"You know, just…" Liam glanced around. "Refilling my usual stock of… shrunken heads."

"Well, I'd appreciate it if next time you went shopping that you took care to not spy on me."

"I wasn't spying on you," Liam attempted.

But Caleb had already turned around and was off to the even murkier depths of the alley. "Alright, then."

Liam scowled but went on his way nonetheless. He was getting a bit too creeped out.

* * *

Hermione was sitting on her and Ron's bed with an absolutely terrified look on her face. 

"What?" Ron asked, entering the bedroom from the adjoining bathroom.

Hermione stared blankly into the distance. "Do you think Ben and Jemma are having sex?"

Ron almost leapt up into the air in shock and horror. Instead, his neck snapped around to face his wife so quickly that he got whiplash, and his eyes had turned the size of Quaffles. "What?!" he repeated.

Hermione's face was slowly forming a grimace. "I mean, think about it—they're almost sixth-years. They're sixteen. They're certainly old enough to be thinking about it, at the very least."

"But just because they're thinking about it doesn't mean that we have to!" Ron looked rather ridiculous, standing in the center of the room, having stopped changing his clothes halfway through the process. He stood in a dress shirt and boxers, with his arms open wide in confusion and disbelief.

"If they _are,_ having sex then you need to talk to Ben about it."

"Me?! _I_ need to talk to Ben?" He pointed an accusatory finger at his wife. "Why can't you do it?"

"Think about how uncomfortable it would be for him if his _mother_ tried to talk to him about sex." Hermione shook her head.

"Think about how uncomfortable it will be for _me_ that I have to talk to my sixteen-year-old son about the potential _sex_ he might be having with his girlfriend!"

"You're being ridiculous, Ron. This is what comes with parenthood." She paused, eyeing him dubiously. "And put some pants on, please."

Ron scoffed and finished changing before climbing into bed. "I know this is what comes with parenthood, but we should've done it long ago and now it's too late."

"It's never too late for things that are important. You need to teach him the proper use of the contraceptive charm—"

"Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop!"

"Didn't your father ever have this conversation with you?"

"No. I have five older brothers, Hermione."

"Fine. Then you'll have the talk with Ben and he can give it to Ewan and Angus, and that will be that."

Ron didn't speak for a moment. He lay with his back to Hermione, breathing heavily. "Well, then you have to promise you'll give Edith her speech."

"Okay. But there's not much to tell her."

"Why not?" He rolled over quickly and propped himself up on his arm.

Hermione shrugged simply. "Because girls are smarter. We just know these things."

* * *

Author's Note: The end. Please review! If you've read book seven yet, just continue on as though whatever works happened, and whatever doesn't work with that book didn't happen. 


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